Nero slipped deeper into the dark, narrow alley, and the darkness seemed to swallow him whole. With each step, less and less daylight reached between the tall, grimy buildings, and the sounds of the city grew muffled, as if even they were afraid to enter this godforsaken place. The air was heavy and damp, saturated with the smell of mold and something Nero couldn't identify but that filled him with unease. However, his need to find clothes and escape from a potentially dangerous situation was stronger than fear itself.
As he walked down the alley, Nero noticed a clothesline hanging high between two buildings. What he saw on it brought him a momentary sense of relief. Ordinary, gray clothes—likely belonging to some poor townsman or servant, judging by the questionable quality of the single-piece medieval tunic.
At that moment, it didn't matter. He had to put something on before he drew the attention of someone more dangerous.
Nero quickly looked around, making sure no one was watching him. The dark alley seemed deserted, but he knew that in such places, appearances could be deceiving. He cautiously approached the clothesline, his heart beating faster with every step.
He reached up, trying to grasp the fabric. It was within arm's reach, yet it seemed so far away. Standing on his toes, he barely managed to grab a piece of the cloth and began slowly pulling it down, but his heart froze when he heard a quiet, unpleasant laugh behind him.
He froze, holding his breath. Two figures emerged from the darkness. They were not ordinary people.
The first of the attackers, short and thin, might have passed for a human at first glance, were it not for the distinctly animalistic features that immediately caught the eye. His face was long and somewhat pointed, and two sharp, pointed ears protruded from his forehead, resembling those of a rat. His eyes were small, gleaming, and predatory, constantly moving as if they were always calculating something or searching for the next victim. Two sharp, slightly too long teeth protruded from his thin lips, adding a predatory edge to his smile. The bandit's skin was pale, almost translucent, giving him the appearance of someone who always dwelled in darkness. His hair, thin and greasy, fell over his shoulders in a disheveled manner, as if it hadn't been washed in a long time. He was dressed in a worn, dark coat that barely covered his scrawny body and narrow leather pants that clung to his rat-like legs. On his feet, he wore heavy, battered boots that looked too large, as if he had stolen them from someone bigger.
The second one, much more powerful, had the appearance of a bodybuilder, though his animalistic nature commanded far greater respect due to his evident bear-like features. His shoulders and neck were covered in thick, brown fur, forming a sort of mane, and his arms were massive, with long fingers ending in sharp claws. The attacker's face had human features but was distinguished by a bear's snout, giving him a terrifying appearance.
From his narrow mouth protruded fangs, and his nose was flattened, similar to that of a bear. His eyes glowed with a cold, yellow light, revealing his ever-alert nature. On his head, just above his temples, grew short, pointed ears that constantly twitched, registering even the faintest sound. He was dressed in thick, worn leather armor that clung tightly to his muscular body, and dark armored pants with metal reinforcements on the knees. On his feet, he wore heavy, steel boots that clanged loudly against the cobblestones as he moved.
Both of them, though humanoid in form, exuded a wild, animalistic aura that made the hair on the back of one's neck stand on end just by looking at them. Their hybrid, human and animal traits, combined with their rough, military attire, made them opponents who not only instilled fear but were also unpredictable, wild, and dangerous.
"What do we have here?" said the first one, licking something off the narrow claw of his right hand. "Someone trying to steal other people's stuff? Really not nice, haha...."
"Calm down, Viktor," the bear-man spoke, clearly amused by the situation. His deep voice vibrated in the narrow space. "Maybe it's just some poor lost boy who doesn't know what's his." He said, lightly stroking his chin with a mocking smile.
"Fluffy... hihi... what shall we do with this... criminal?" The rat-man seemed genuinely amused by the comic nature of the situation, given the hypocrisy of it. He deliberately drew out the last word.
Nero swallowed hard, feeling his body start to tremble. He knew he had no chance against these two. His heart was pounding like a hammer, and his thoughts were spinning in his head. He tried to stay calm, though he was acutely aware that the situation was spiraling out of control.
"I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he began, trying to come up with some excuse, "I just..."
"Just what? Stole something that didn't belong to you?" the rat-man, who apparently went by the name "Viktor," moved closer with a disturbing gleam in his eye.
Before Nero could defend himself, Viktor was upon him in a swift motion and struck him hard in the stomach. The blow was painful, but more terrifying was how quickly and efficiently it was delivered. Nero staggered, losing his balance, and the second attacker, Fluffy, grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up like a doll.
"You know, Viktor," said the bear-man, squeezing Nero's neck, "maybe we've got more than just a thief here. He smells strange... like he's not from around here."
Nero tried to break free, but it was useless. He felt his strength draining rapidly. Fluffy held him effortlessly, as if he were a meaningless object.
"You're right... hehe," Viktor responded with satisfaction. "Maybe we should take him to the boss. We might get something out of him."
Punch.
The bear-man didn't respond to his companion but instead struck Nero in the head. The world went dark before his eyes.
Nero awoke in a dark, damp room, bound and disoriented. His head throbbed with pain, and every attempt to move sent sharp stabs through his muscles. The silence around him was broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere in the corner. He tried to focus, to understand where he was, but the darkness surrounding him was so thick that he couldn't even see his own hands.
He had a feeling that he had landed in the middle of troubles he could never have anticipated. He didn't know this world, these people—or rather, these creatures—but one thing was certain: whatever awaited him now was far from the monotony and boredom of his previous life.
One question lingered in his mind: would he find a way to survive in this new, brutal world? Or would this dark, unfamiliar room be where his story came to a premature end?
The cell was grim and oppressive, its walls made of numerous decayed planks, overgrown with thick moss. The air was heavy with the overwhelming stench of mildew, mixed with the sharp odor of rotting corpses.
In the corner of the cell lay the body of a young elf woman, her skin now a sallow, earthy tone. She had likely been raped before her death, as suggested by the brutal marks of violence on her body. Her once-shining, silvery hair was now tangled, matted with dirt and blood, and her torn clothing barely covered her nakedness. The delicate features of her face, once full of life, were frozen in an expression of fear and suffering. Her wide-open, empty eyes bore silent witness to the nightmare she had endured just before her tragic end. The sight disgusted Nero and provided a grim explanation of his own dire situation.
In the middle of the cell, Nero knelt on the ground. His hands were tied with thick, rough ropes to a stake driven into the earth, which seemed to be the only solid thing in this place of decay. His body trembled from cold and exhaustion, and his breathing was shallow and quick, as if he were trying to block out the pervasive horror. Nero's eyes, full of pain and resignation, rested on a pile of bones and skulls nearby. Among the pile, various shapes of skulls could be seen—human, orcish, and even smaller ones belonging to goblins. This pile was a silent testament to the cruelty that had taken place in this cell, and Nero, with his gaze fixed on the ground, knew that he might be the next victim of this merciless trap if he didn't come up with a plan.
Initially, he considered tearing the sturdy stake from the ground, but the injuries he had sustained made it impossible to move it even an inch. The only good news was that the gag in his mouth served as an effective muffler for his screams, which were provoked by the sharp pain during his attempts to free himself.
Judging by the lack of light filtering through the gaps in the wooden walls, Nero understood that it was night. The only torch was positioned near the wooden bars of his makeshift cell, too far away for him to attempt knocking it over. There was also the risk that the noise of a falling torch would alert the guard, who was currently dozing at the entrance to the cell.
Nero could only see a protruding green, skinny leg, and he guessed that it was likely the guard, probably asleep after drinking a large amount of alcohol.
Despite the overwhelming panic and the growing theories in his mind about his fate if he didn't escape now, Nero tried to devise a way out.
The idea for freeing his hands came after several agonizing minutes, primarily because the injuries he had sustained were so severe that any sharp movement caused his muscles to radiate with pain.
Stretching his legs to their limits, Nero tried to pull a skull of an indeterminate humanoid creature towards him with his feet. The skull was cracked—if he had to guess the cause of death, it would definitely be from a blow by an axe or another bladed weapon.
The skull bore a clear mark from the blade, and the resulting crack had created a sharp edge. Perfect for cutting through the ropes. "Just a little more..."
There was still some rotten flesh clinging to the skull, the smell was revolting. Despite this, Nero managed to drag the skull towards him and, with great difficulty, maneuvered it directly into his hands.
"Finally, freedom... Now... I have to get out... I have to think of something."
With the skull's sharp edge in his grasp, he began to saw at the ropes binding his wrists, working as quickly as his trembling hands would allow. Each cut brought him closer to freedom, though the task was slow and painful. The rough surface of the skull scraped against his skin, adding to his discomfort, but he gritted his teeth and focused on the goal.
After what felt like an eternity, the ropes finally gave way. Nero's hands were free. He rubbed his sore wrists, trying to bring some feeling back into them, all the while keeping an ear out for any sound from the guard. The goblin still seemed to be asleep, snoring lightly, blissfully unaware of Nero's progress.
Nero knew he had little time. His mind raced with possibilities—he needed to find a weapon, a way to deal with the guard, and most importantly, a way out of this grim cell. The torch near the bars might be his best bet; if he could reach it, he could use it to his advantage. But he had to be quiet, careful, and above all, quick.
As he looked around the cell, once again his eyes were met with the sight of the corpse of the raped elf. Her body was covered in slime, but the traces around it clearly indicated that the brutal scene in which the woman had died took place here.
After a closer examination of the unfortunate victim, Neron noticed that from under her clothing, or rather from the untouched fragment under her back, a small golden object was protruding.
When Neron approached closer, he tried to retrieve the object, which turned out to be a small golden mirror with rather peculiar gold leaf decorations on its frame.
It was not a dagger, but Neron also found a use for this peculiar item.
Neron quickly approached the wooden bars as quietly as he could. He held up the mirror and, looking at the reflection, scanned the surroundings of the cell.
Now having a better view, he discovered that his cell turned out to be a mere shed in a rather squalid camp.
The guard turned out to be a rather small goblin with skin resembling the color of rotting green, leaning against the thick wooden beams of the cell. His figure was small, hunched, with bony limbs that seemed too long for his short stature. His clothing, made of dirty rags, was torn and almost completely faded, and a faintly musty smell lingered around him. The goblin's head, covered with sparse, greasy hair, hung low on his chest as if sleep weighed heavily on it. His excessively large ears stuck out on the sides, twitching slightly with each breath he took. His sharp, yellow teeth, visible beneath barely parted lips, gave him a menacing appearance even while he slept.
"Maybe I do have a bit of luck, he's a dozy one..." Neron thought, noticing that just under the goblin's left hand lay an old, rusty dagger with a slightly curved blade. Keeping this in mind, Neron tried to gently pull the mentioned object from the guard's grip.
Neron held his breath during this process, he had no doubt that the mentioned guard could kill him. He knew no self-defense techniques, and if the goblin were to spring up at him in a blind rage, he could easily kill him.
When the dagger was in his hands, Neron faced a serious decision. He had to kill to live.
Neron held the dagger he had managed to steal from the sleeping goblin, his heart raced, and his mind struggled with its own thoughts. The blade was cold and heavy, as if its edge pierced not only the air but also his conscience. He looked at the goblin, who was still snoring softly, unaware of the impending danger. It was just a guard, a small obstacle on the path to freedom, yet still a living being. The thought of having to take a life brought an internal struggle within Neron.
Could he strike and save his own life? Was freedom worth the price of spilling blood? Neron knew there was no other option—if he wanted to escape, he had to act now before the goblin woke up. Even so, he still hesitated, standing on the brink of a decision that could change his fate forever.
Sound of a throat being slit.
"I don't feel anything, why?"
Reality turned out to be completely different from what Neron had in mind. His feelings, despite everything, had calmed down; he was more concerned about what might have happened. But now, as it was all over, it seemed to lose its significance.